


Love and Mercy

by lafiametta



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Modern Medical Setting, Romance, Slow Burn, Walter Reed Hospital
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8650216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafiametta/pseuds/lafiametta
Summary: They were there to heal, to offer the best possible treatment to the wounded soldiers under their care, not to fall in love. At least that's what they told themselves. (Originally inspired by this photoset...)





	1. A Proper Thanksgiving

She found him leaning against the counter of the nurses’ station, head dropped wearily into his hands. He must have just completed his evening rounds.

“Long day?” Mary asked.

“Is there any other kind?” The words emerged half-muffled through his fingers.

She offered him a sympathetic smile, even though she knew he couldn’t see her, and then wracked her brain for something else to say. With Dr. Foster she always seemed to be at a strange loss for words. 

“Hopefully you didn’t have any Thanksgiving plans…” she eventually said. 

A few of the staff – Dr. Foster and herself, Dr. Hale, Dr. Diggs, Nurse Hastings, and Nurse Green – had been asked by Major Summers to work the holiday shift, much to their general dismay. A trip back home to Boston hadn’t been in the cards for Mary, so her plans had involved having dinner with one of her favorite teachers from her nursing program, Professor Dix. But clearly that wasn’t in the cards either. 

He stood up straight and stretched out his back, his hand reaching up to rub against the nape of his neck. She tried – unsuccessfully – not to stare. 

“Oh, I had plans, marvelous plans,” he said, his voice starting to take on that tone of sarcastic grandiosity she knew so well by now. “The evening’s delights were to be unsurpassed. Ravens game on the flat screen, Hungry Man dinner in my microwave. Do you know they make more than just Salisbury Steak these days?”

“I was unaware,” she said dryly. 

What she  _was_ aware of – painfully aware, in fact – was that Dr. Foster had separated from his wife three months ago and was now living by himself in an apartment in Dupont Circle. She tried not think about it, though. When it came to Dr. Foster, the best thing, the smartest thing, was to not think about him at all. 

Their brief conversation was cut short by the arrival of Dr. Hale, who stopped to hand off his charts to the nurse behind the counter. 

“See you’re still here, Foster,” he sneered. “Knowing your penchant for disregarding orders, I would have thought you’d have snuck out hours ago.”

“I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of my company,  _Hale_. And someone needs to be around to make sure you don’t accidentally amputate the wrong leg.”

Dr. Hale’s round cheeks grew even redder than normal. “That was only once!” he screeched. “And I figured it out before I made the incision!”

Dr. Foster glanced over at Mary, his eyebrows raised conspiratorially. She tried to ignore her stomach’s traitorous little back-flip.

“My god,” Dr. Hale continued, “I can’t believe I have to spend a national holiday in the presence of such degenerates.” His gaze turned over to her, as if only now noticing that she was standing there. “I don’t mean you, of course, Nurse Phinney,” he said quickly, offering her an embarrassed grin. 

Wanting to change the subject before Dr. Hale said or did anything else cringe worthy, she nodded her head in the direction of the staff’s tiny break room.

“So I think Nurse Green made some food for everyone,” she offered. “In case either of you are hungry…”

The mention of food seemed to mollify Dr. Hale, who narrowed his eyes at Dr. Foster one last time and then sauntered off down the hallway. She and Dr. Foster followed right behind, although she made a mental note to try to keep the two of them separated for as long as she could over the remainder of the night.

As they stepped inside the break room, she quickly realized how inadequate the word “food” was to describe what Nurse Green had assembled. The kitchenette counters were completely covered in casserole dishes and Tupperware, filled with everything one could imagine: steaming mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, macaroni and cheese, cranberry sauce. There were two pies, pumpkin and pecan, sitting by the coffeemaker. And Nurse Green, Mary saw, was in the process of pulling copious amounts of aluminum foil off of what appeared to be a fully-cooked twenty-pound turkey.

“If she made all this here,” Dr. Foster murmured in her ear, “I would say that we are vastly underutilizing our break room.”

“Uh, I think she must have done it at home,” Mary replied, still not quite over the shock of it all, “ _with the help of a small army_ …”

“‘Course I had help, silly,” Nurse Green exclaimed. “Momma and Alice and Belinda and I worked all mornin’ gettin’ everythin’ finished up. Momma said she just couldn’t stand the thought of all of us not havin’ a proper Thanksgivin’!”

“Well, our heartfelt appreciation to the Green family, then!” said Dr. Foster, as he stepped towards the counter and grabbed an empty plate. Mary followed him, filling her own plate with a bit of everything from all the dishes. It all looked so delicious – and it was hard to believe that four women had made it all in just a few hours.

She glanced up to see a few other staff filtering in – Dr. Diggs and Nurse Hastings, who went straight for the buttered rolls – and then found herself a seat at the tiny circular table in the middle of the room. By the time everyone was seated, space had gotten tight and she was practically sitting on top of Dr. Foster, a proximity she did her best to disregard. For a little while, at least.

“Any chance this might be better than Hungry Man Salisbury Steak?” she finally whispered, daring to raise an eyebrow in his direction.

“Maybe,” he said, his eyes catching hers as a playful half-smile rounded across his cheeks. She couldn’t look away, not with her breath caught so painfully – and perfectly – within her chest. “But it’s hard to imagine improving on the company…”


	2. The Holiday Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Mercy Street Holiday 2016 Prompt Challenge on Tumblr: "Christmas Stocking" (Dec 3)

“Holy sh _…night_ …”

Mary glanced up from her dog-eared paperback to see Dr. Diggs –  _Samuel_ , she reminded herself, now that they were friends she could call him Samuel – standing in the doorway, staring wide-eyed at the back wall of the break room. Under normal circumstances, he was pretty unflappable, so the fact that he had barely been able to catch himself before swearing spoke volumes about his state of shocked surprise.

“Yeah, I know…” Mary said, raising her eyebrows and offering him a chagrined half-smile. 

She understood: she had experienced a similar reaction the first time she had walked in the door and seen it. It had been the Monday after Thanksgiving, and she had just wandered in to get a quick cup of coffee, only to be visually assaulted by what appeared to be an entire department store’s worth of Christmas decorations stuffed into their tiny break room. Garlands of holly and bright tinsel, festooned with wide red ribbon, decorated nearly every available surface, and tiny pinecone-shaped holiday lights were draped from the ceiling. And on the far wall, held up on little plastic gold hooks, were dozens of burgundy and forest green-colored Christmas stockings, one for each doctor and nurse in the ward. But Samuel had been gone for a few days, off visiting his family in Philadelphia, and this was obviously the first time he had come in since his return. 

“Nurse Green?”

“You have to ask?” she replied.

He walked over to the wall, his gaze still taking in the dizzying and colorful array.

“Did she write all our names with –”

“Puff paint? Yeah, I think so.”

“Wow.”

He ran his finger along the letters of his own name, a white stylized snowflake dotting the “i” in Diggs. 

All in all, it was fairly impressive work on the part of the young nurse, if only a little overwhelming. Ever since she had started at Walter Reed two months ago, she had seemed determined to get the staff fully into the holiday spirit. Every single holiday, apparently. In one of her snarkier moods, Mary wondered if Nurse Green held particularly strong feelings about Arbor Day.

“There’s something in yours.”

“What?” she asked in confusion. 

Looking up at her own stocking – it was towards the middle, a few rows from the bottom, the “P” in Phinney striped like a candy cane – she realized that he was right. There was something bulging slightly at the bottom of it, something with enough bulk to make the fabric pull a little. What was even weirder was that it hadn’t been there on Monday – she definitely would have noticed. 

Dropping her book on the table, she pushed back her chair and made her way over to the back wall. As she took the stocking off the hook, it was clear from the weight that there was something inside, and with her curiosity now fully piqued, she sank her hand into the bottom and pulled out the object in question. 

It felt hard and smooth, marked by rounded plastic edges, and as she opened her hand, her state of confusion only seemed to deepen.

It was a small snow globe, no bigger than her palm. Once the chaos of sparkly flakes settled against the bottom of the water, she could make out a tiny Lincoln Memorial, the dome of the Capitol, and in between the two, the long, pointed spire of the Washington Monument. 

She stared at it for a moment, not being able to make any rhyme or reason of it at all. Why would anyone leave this, a tourist’s souvenir, for her in a Christmas stocking in the break room? It was kind of pretty – in a slightly kitschy way – but who out there would think what she had much interest in watching glittery snow fall over Washington?

The memory came back to her suddenly, and she bit her lips together, feeling the slow curl of a smile emerging from the corner of her mouth.

It had been about two weeks ago – a nasty, wet mid-November day, still warm enough that the press of humidity fogged up the windows of the hospital shuttle that ferried her to work from the Metro station. She was soaked and bedraggled – a casualty of the long rainy walk from her apartment to the Metro – and had never quite dried out, despite the forty-minute commute. She missed Boston terribly that morning, a proper city that knew when it was time to stop being fall and start being winter, and she missed the way it snowed there, the way the cold hung in the air, so clean and crisp against her cheeks and the tip of her nose. After the first snow of the season, the streets and sidewalks would be covered in a soft white blanket, the glow of streetlights casting everything in hazy auras of gold and pale yellow.

She had only moved in April, so she had no idea what the snow looked like in D.C. Based on her experience of the summer – a never-ending ordeal of heat and humidity – it seemed entirely possible that it might never arrive at all. 

It was just a coincidence that he had been there, standing by the nurses’ station as she walked in, but he took one look at her vaguely-drowned-rat-like appearance and offered her a warm grin of sympathy. It might have actually been pity, but at that point, she was willing to take what she could get. 

Somehow she had found herself talking – about Boston and snow and the strangeness of this city, originally built on top of a swamp, which really did explain a lot – and she had ended up asking him what it was like here, in the winter, when it actually snowed. Dr. Foster had lived her long enough, she reasoned, and he had grown up in Baltimore, only an hour’s drive away. 

_Go down and see the Mall after the first snow_ , he had told her,  _as fast as you can before the herds of tourists stomp their meaty footprints all over it._  His gaze held hers and he had smiled again, softer this time, perhaps no longer provoked solely by feelings of sympathy or pity.  _Trust me, you should go see it_ , he added. _It’s worth it._  

She hadn’t quite understood – normally he wasn’t given to speaking in such elusive, enigmatic terms – but now, as she looked down at the snow globe in her hand, she could begin to see what he meant, how there might be something peaceful and still and starkly beautiful about the monuments in winter, something worth taking the time to experience. What was harder to wrap her head around was the gesture itself. Because clearly he had thought about their conversation, thought about it enough to find this tiny – and strangely sweet – memento and leave it for her as a gift. But still, he probably didn’t mean anything more than that by it, right?

“Do you have a Secret Santa or something?” Samuel asked, the sound of his voice quickly pulling her back from her thoughts. 

“Maybe so,” she murmured, trying her best – and failing – to disregard the pleasurable tendrils of warmth slowly coiling through her chest as she slipped the snow globe into the pocket of her cardigan and hung the now-empty stocking back onto its hook. Maybe this was what it felt like to fully embrace the holiday spirit, she thought with a wry smile. Nurse Green, no doubt, would be more than pleased.


	3. The Sensible Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Mercy Street Holiday 2016 Prompt Challenge on Tumblr: "Christmas Tree" (Dec 6)

There was no way Jed was getting a tree this year. 

First of all, the damn thing probably wouldn’t fit in his matchbox of an apartment, not without cutting the top of it off, and besides, he didn’t have any decorations, and he wasn’t about to go out and buy some cheap drugstore lights and plastic ornaments, just for the sake of a holiday he didn’t feel that keen on celebrating anyway. 

It was strange, the things he missed, the unexplained nostalgia he felt for the old decorations, which was crazy because he hadn’t even picked them out in the first place. But they were gone, having been packed up into a moving box labelled “X-Mas,” and were now probably sitting on the floor of some rented storage space on the outskirts of San Francisco. Although maybe by this point in December, she’d have bought a tree, had someone help her strap it to the roof of the Tahoe like he used to, brought it back home and poured a glass of wine and put on the Christmas music while she walked around and decided where each ornament would go. 

No, a tree was definitely out of the question. 

Plus – and he had never told her this, not once, just because he knew he would get accused of being difficult, of deliberately trying to spoil her enjoyment of the holiday – he really, really hated how the loose pine needles got into  _everything_.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him, then – and the way this year was going, nothing should really surprise him – that despite his best-laid plans, he still found himself with a Christmas tree, not at home, but at work, jutting out massively into their tiny lobby, halfway between the nurses’ station and the elevators. He didn’t need to guess who was responsible, especially as she was right there, standing on a chair, painstakingly draping what were no doubt handmade garlands of popcorn and cranberries across its branches. She had even roped in one of the chaplains to assist, whose job seemed to consist of slowly doling out the additional lengths and quietly reminding her to watch her footing as she moved. 

Jed couldn’t imagine that someone – Major Summers, or one of the other administrators – hadn’t told Nurse Green that the lobby was not an ideal location for a seven-foot tall Douglas Fir. He doubted it would have stopped her, though; she was clearly a woman on a mission. It was almost too bad she had confined herself to the nursing profession, he thought, because she would have made an excellent commander in the field.

“Now, Chaplain Hopkins, don’t you be lettin’ me fall…” Jed heard her murmur.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” the chaplain answered, “but I really wish you’d be more careful – or let me do this part. We’ve got enough injured patients in this hospital… the doctors probably don’t want any more.”

She laughed, a soft tinkly sound. “I’m almos’ done, I promise.”

Jed glanced up to see her rising onto her tip-toes, reaching towards the top branches. The chaplain, for his part, registered a look of moderate panic as he stood behind her and braced his arms widely, perhaps hoping to stave off disaster.

At some point, Jed knew, someone would need to put a damper on the enthusiasms of Nurse Green – there was only so much holiday cheer and goodwill towards man one hospital could take.

Although, even he had to admit, the Thanksgiving dinner had been nice, and he had thoroughly enjoyed tucking into a second helping of stuffing, which was honestly some of the best he’d ever had. He still wasn’t sure what was in it – cornbread, maybe?

But,  _Christ_ , the break room, he thought with a sigh. She’d turned his tiny refuge for the occasional cup of coffee into a goddamn Miracle on 34th Street. He couldn’t go in there anymore without the pervasive aroma of cinnamon-spice-gingerbread-evergreen-forest getting stuck in his nostrils for the remainder of the day.

The stockings were even more ridiculous, stuck up on the wall like some precocious child’s art project, although his immediate response to them wasn’t much better: he had immediately searched for Hale’s, and for minute seriously considered trying to get his hands on some chunks of coal. After locating his own – a cheery set of reindeer antlers sprouting from the “F” – he had turned back towards the coffeemaker, only to have his gaze catch on a different stocking, this one closer to the bottom, her name stark and white against the dark burgundy of the fabric.

He hadn’t thought much of it, not really, not until that night, when he had made a quick stop at the drugstore for some toilet paper and deodorant, and at the end of an aisle came across the display of usual tourist knickknacks: Washington, D.C. sweatshirts, refrigerator magnets, sets of shot glasses. The snow globe had seemed pretty unremarkable, set out among the other offerings, but it immediately drew him back to their conversation, that morning when she had come in wearing a slick yellow raincoat, like some kind of old-fashioned Maine fisherman, tendrils of her dark hair damply plastered against the side of her face.

He could tell she was upset – although slightly ruffled might have been a better term for it, as no one could rightly accuse the sensible Nurse Phinney of being anything but self-possessed – just for the way she was talking to him, at such length, about personal things, things that didn’t involve patients or dosing schedules or post-op recovery. She was going on about winters in Boston, and he could tell from the edge in her voice that she missed home.

He hadn’t known what to tell her – _“This city is weird, its weather is weird, you’ll get used to it”?_  – and then the only thing that had come to mind was his memory of the last blizzard, when he and Eliza had wandered downtown to see what everything looked like covered in white.

At that moment, though, for reasons beyond his understanding, the memory hadn’t contained Eliza; instead, he was there with Nurse Phinney, all wrapped up in a thick winter coat and scarf, a Red Sox beanie pulled over her hair, and he watched her eyes grow big and her smile widen as she took in the gleaming, pristine expanse of snow.

Maybe that’s why he had grabbed the snow globe and dropped it in the bottom of his shopping basket. It was a strange impulse, and he felt even stranger sneaking it into her stocking the next day – normally he wasn’t given to such acts of unabashed sentimentality – but for some reason he liked the idea of her having it and looking at it, the closest he would probably ever get to re-creating his vision of her standing in the snow.

Letting himself think like this, though, and talking to her the way he did, with his teasing and sometimes deliberate provocation, the way his eyes always seemed to find her in a crowd – even  _he_  could recognize that it was beyond stupid. They worked together, he was at least ten years older than her, he was a doctor and she was a nurse, and, of course, he was still married – or at least until the paperwork went through. He knew he should leave her be, not try to involve her in the accidental quagmire that was his life. That would be the right thing to do, the sensible thing. It was what  _she_  would do, were she in his position.

A soft squeal and a rough scrape of chair legs against the linoleum floor quickly turned his attention upwards, just in time to watch the tiny form of Nurse Green as she lost her balance, her hands fruitlessly reaching out for something to grab onto, and began to fall backwards in the air.

For a split second, Jed could feel his heart stilling, his brain quickly calculating the angle of the fall, wondering if it might result in cranial and vertebral damage or if she was going to luck out with just a contusion and a few nasty bruises.

But of course – and he wasn’t even sure why he was surprised at this point – she landed directly in the arms of the chaplain, who at that moment looked equally terrified and enraptured.

“Nurse Green… are you alright?” the young man stammered out.

“Oh, my stars,” she said breathlessly, as she curled her hands up around his shoulders for support.

And then all Jed could do was shake his head and roll his eyes a little, but not before he noticed that just before she slipped, Nurse Green had managed to finish decorating the tree, setting in place the final lengths of red and white decorative garland. Not even gravity could derail her from her mission.


	4. The Sweet and Hopeful Yearnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Mercy Street Holiday 2016 Prompt Challenge on Tumblr: "Carolers" (Dec 12)

The door to his office was half-open, and Mary found herself momentarily hovering in the doorway, caught between clearing her throat so he’d know she was there and letting herself quietly watch him. Mostly, she could just see the back of his head as he leaned back a little in his chair, his feet propped up on a stack of thick Army-issue protocol and procedure binders. He was reading through a journal article – from the looks of it, something from either  _The Lancet_  or the  _NEJM_  – but she couldn’t help but notice that ESPN.com was open on his laptop screen, video highlights of the most recent Ravens game playing surreptitiously on mute.

Finally – after a longer time than she ought to have waited – she softly rapped on the door, pushing it open just a bit as part of the pretense that she had just gotten there.

”You ready?” she asked, tilting her head in an inviting, but deliberately collegial, way. 

His head turned back towards her and just as quickly, his feet lifted off the binders and he swiveled around in her direction. He sighed, although there was something in his gaze that seemed to indicate he didn’t mind being interrupted all that much. 

“Have I told you how much I hate carolers?” 

“Only about a hundred times…” she said, offering a wry smile as she found herself being drawn into the warm provocation of his tone. “But it’s not just carolers, it’s Dr. Diggs’s  _a capella_  group. They’re supposed to be quite good.” 

“Have I told you that if there’s anything I hate more than carolers, it’s  _a capella_  groups?” 

She leaned against the doorframe, grinning a little more widely as she rolled her eyes. Apparently, he was in one of  _those_ moods. She wasn’t quite sure what might be responsible – she hadn’t heard about any run-ins with Dr. Hale, which would have been the most obvious cause – but Dr. Foster was known to have a fairly mercurial temperament, so it really could have been anything at all.  

Still, she wasn’t really of a mind to let him indulge in it.  

“You know, I think it would be great if you could avoid saying that during the performance…” she said, giving him her best impatient-but-slightly-amused schoolmarm glare. “C’mon, Dr. Grinch.” 

Their gazes held just a second or so longer than she was really ready for. 

“Fine…” His eyes glinted in the light as he rose to his feet. “But the minute it becomes a sing-along, you’re going to have to watch as I make a decidedly hasty exit.”

He leaned down, searching for something to use as a bookmark for his journal, and in that moment, Mary’s gaze caught along the top of his desk. Off to the side, there was a stamped manila envelope with papers laying right across it. “Superior Court of California, County of San Mateo,” it read across the top of the paper in small capital letters. “Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.” A plastic stickie tab stuck out from the side of the pile, a red arrow and the words “Sign Here” marked across it. 

She managed to get her face relatively back to normal by the time he looked over at her, although the same couldn’t really be said for her heart, which was still pounding erratically somewhere up by her throat. It was a good thing she was with a doctor, she half-joked to herself: if she went into vfib, at least he would know what to do.  

Dr. Foster was getting a divorce. And he was getting a divorce just in time for Christmas. God, how awful. It  _was_  awful,  _wasn’t it?_

As they made their way down towards the central lobby, she was quieter, her feelings shifting around in her chest as she tried to figure out what to do with this new revelation. It didn’t mean anything, she eventually told herself – it had nothing to do with her at all. It wasn’t even any of her business, really, but now that she knew, obviously she should just try to treat him the same way she would any other doctor in this hospital, with nothing more than sympathy for a colleague going through a difficult period.

Of course, that did little to dispel the faint tingle in her fingertips that appeared after they both reached for the elevator call button at the same time.

The lobby was already full of people, mostly patients and their families, seated in upholstered chairs brought in from the waiting rooms, although there were many in wheelchairs. She was able to instantly locate a few of her patients from the ward, the ones who were stable enough to be transported downstairs. She was glad they were here; it made a world of difference to be able to get out of the confined space of a hospital room. And as always, the dominant color was fatigue, punctuated by the occasional bright red of a wife or girlfriend’s holiday sweater. Small children were playing, scampering in between the seats, the sound of their squeals bouncing off the high tiled ceiling.

Ringing the crowd was an assortment of the hospital’s staff, and Mary spied Dr. Hale and Nurse Hastings over near the windows, whispering intimately to one another, and a little closer, Nurse Green and Major Summers, the former gazing out at the assembled group with pure, unalloyed delight, the latter looking as if he couldn’t wait to get back to the afternoon comforts of his office couch.

On the other side of the lobby were a few of the physical therapists – distinctive in their black polos and khakis – and Mary spotted Aurelia, her arms draped over the shoulders of a young boy as she held him close. That had to be Gabe, her son, who Mary had heard about, but had never seen. He had only been living with Aurelia for a little while – there had been something about a custody issue with his father, who lived in North Carolina – but she looked overjoyed to have him back.

The other source of Aurelia’s joy, Mary knew, was her budding relationship with Samuel. They had been seeing each other for a few months now, and even though she was a civilian PT and he was an Army doctor – one of best cardio-thoracic surgeons on staff – they seemed to be making a good go of it. Most days, Mary wished her love life were half as promising.

Aurelia tapped Gabe on the shoulder and pointed, and Mary followed the direction of her outstretched arm to see a group of five men – Samuel among them – walk out in front of the crowd. They were dressed casually, in jeans and sweaters, each with a festive red and white striped scarf looped around his neck.

A quick burst of cheering and applause erupted from the assembled crowd, along with a smattering of sharp “hoo-ahs,” as the group took their places up front. After some brief introductions, the audience hushed itself as the group launched into a beautiful rendition of “Come All Ye Faithful.” Their voices were clear and lofty, a harmonious combination of different ranges, all honed by what was undoubtedly hours upon hours of practice.

The crowd loved it, breaking into applause once they finished, cheering and whooping as they continued through their repertoire, which included everything from “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” to “Feliz Navidad.”  At one point, they asked everyone to clap along to “A Holly Jolly Christmas” – which the crowd seemed more than willing to do – and Mary turned her head towards Dr. Foster, wondering how he might react to this minimal request for audience participation. It didn’t seem to scare him off entirely, she noted, as he continued to stand there with his hands in his pockets, a strangely subdued look on his face. She wondered if he was thinking about the papers in his office, simply waiting for that final signature – and then she sighed a little at herself, at her own ridiculousness, and turned her attention back to the carolers at the front of the room.

After a few additional songs, the carolers were clearly coming towards the end of the performance, and she watched as Samuel took a few steps forward, positioning himself in front of the other four men. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something, but then he began to sing, all by himself, his voice a deep, rich baritone that seemed to sweep away every other sound in the room.

_"Have yourself a merry little Christmas,_  
_Let your heart be light_  
_From now on,_  
_Our troubles will be out of sight…”_

It was strange; something about the way that he sang, this astonishing talent she had never known he possessed, coupled with the words of the song, the idea of leaving behind your problems and your worries and letting all of it disappear in the pleasure of being around the ones you loved – it pulled at her a little, her chest tightening unexpectedly.

_“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,_  
_Make the Yule-tide gay_  
_From now on,_  
_Our troubles will be miles away…”_

She gazed around the room, taking in the sight of all these people in rapt attention, all these soldiers who had given so much, sacrificed so much, their bodies and their minds broken in ways that sometimes defied imagination. But they were here, listening to the sweet and hopeful yearnings of this song, maybe thinking that for this moment, the world was right again, everything was just as it had been before.

_“Here we are as in olden days,_  
_Happy golden days of yore_  
_Faithful friends who are dear to us_  
_Gather near to us once more…”_

The other members of the group began to softly harmonize behind Samuel, filling the room with the warm thrumming of their voices. Mary turned her head and saw that it wasn’t just the patients and their families who were affected by the song: Dr. Hale and Nurse Hastings stood entranced, along with Nurse Green and even Major Summers, a dreamy smile planted on his face. And, of course, Aurelia, her arms clasped around Gabe, looked the happiest of all, her face glowing with pleasure and pride, and with what Mary realized had to be the early stirrings of love.

_“Through the years we all will be together,_  
_If the fates allow_  
_Hang a shining star upon the highest bough_  
_And have yourself… a merry little Christmas now.”_

There was a moment’s weight of silence after he finished – everyone was clearly still under the song’s spell – and then the room burst forth with an eruption of applause. She heartily clapped along, not really understanding the multitude of emotions that were passing through her, and she found herself taking a deep breath and swallowing, just to dispel some of it from the center of her chest.

“Nurse Phinney, are you _having_ _a moment_?”

His tone was slightly mocking – nothing out of the ordinary – but as she turned to meet his gaze, she saw that his expression decidedly was not.

“Thank you for your concern, _Doctor_ ,” she answered softly, arching an eyebrow at him, “but I’m fine. It was beautiful song. Dr. Diggs is very talented.”

She turned back towards the performers, watching as Samuel – his smile wide from ear to ear – held his hands out in front of him, attempting to get the crowd to settle down a little.

“Alright, everyone, thanks so much! So for our last song, we’re going to need a little help…” he shouted over the din. “But don’t worry, you all know the words!”

Mary glanced back over at Dr. Foster, certain that she would only catch a glimpse of his retreating form as he escaped towards the bank of elevators. But to her surprise, he was still standing there beside her, arms crossed over his chest, offering her a small look of amused exasperation.

_“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…”_ she heard the five carolers sing.

She started grinning – although she couldn’t have said why, really – and then he was smiling, too, warmth unspooling from his dark eyes. She needed to look away, she knew, but it was harder than she might have imagined – at least in that moment, with the familiar words of the song caught on her lips, wanting nothing more than to be sung, with the realization that he might actually join in with her, despite his earlier protestations.

_“A partridge in a pear tree!”_ they sang out together, their voices merging with those of the crowd, making a joyful sound that reverberated deep within the sudden and surprising fullness of her heart.


	5. Something Entirely Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Mercy Street Holiday 2016 Prompt Challenge on Tumblr: "Snow" (Dec 18)

(3:21)      _Is it snowing there yet?_

(3:25)       ** _started 2 hrs ago_**

(3:25)      _What’s the prediction?_

(3:27)       ** _foot & half mabye 2_**

(3:28)       _Stay safe! And say hi to Abby and the boys!_

(3:35)       ** _will do, sis_**

With a soft click of the power button, the screen went dark, and Mary slipped her phone back into the pocket of her zip-up fleece.

She had been checking the weather report all day; a big winter storm was about to hit central Massachusetts, and her brother’s farm – just outside of Amherst – looked to be right in the thick of it. They would probably be fine, she knew: George and Abby had been living there for almost fifteen years now, long enough to know how to properly weather-proof a 19th-century farmhouse and prepare themselves for the more than likely days-long power outage. And her two nephews, Jonathan and Lucas, loved the snow. She remembered two Christmases ago when she had stayed with them, spending hours with the boys traipsing around on borrowed snowshoes, building an army of snowmen with kitchen-utensil noses (Abby couldn’t find any carrots), laughing and running as she was pelted with powdery snowballs, the dogs leaping excitedly around them. 

The storm resembled nothing more than a giant icy blue and purple smudge on the radar map, swooping across southern New York and Pennsylvania, the tail end of it reaching down into central Virginia. It was possible D.C. might see the odd flurry, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath. The sun had been shining around lunchtime – she had seen as much when she wandered outside, searching for Sgt. Ritacco, who she eventually found out on the veranda, defiantly smoking a Camel Light and tapping the ashes out against the armrest of his wheelchair – and even with the chill in the air, actual snow seemed an unlikely prospect. 

Maybe it would never snow at all, she thought, as she leaned up against the counter of the nurses’ station, distractedly brushing her fingers back and forth against the laminate. 

She didn’t even have time to fully register his presence before he sidled up next to her.

“Quick, Phinney, go grab your coat,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

“What?” she asked, in confusion and surprise, finding that even as she swiveled her head to face him, she needed to take a hasty step back, lest their faces be at an altogether dangerous level of proximity. “Why?” she added, feeling slightly recovered now that they were separated by a good two feet. “What happened? Are we being evacuated?” It wasn’t totally out the realm of possibility: as a prominent military facility, they were subject to the occasional bomb threat, and since she had started, there had been one very unwise private who had thought that setting off the fire alarm was the best way to get himself out of morning PT. 

“Go get your coat,” Dr. Foster repeated, but the enigmatic half-grin he was sporting indicated that the situation was not so serious as all that. He was already dressed for the outdoors, she noted, wearing a thick wool pea coat and a dark red and gray plaid scarf. He jerked his head towards the hallway. “C’mon, we have to hurry.”

“Why?” she asked again, this time more slowly, feeling heat rising to her cheeks as a coy smile pulled along the corner of her mouth. There was something about his manner that was unsettling her, although not in an entirely unpleasant way; she was used to his moods by now, how he could be serious and exacting one minute and full of sarcastic quips the next, but this – a knowing look, warmth and playfulness in his dark eyes – she didn’t know what to make of it at all. Even so, it was hard to resist, harder still with his gaze on her, almost as if she were the only thing in the room.

“Do you trust me or not?” he asked, and then she could see the familiar humor flash across his face as he grinned outright. “Yeah, never mind, don’t answer that.”

He turned away from the counter, and without warning Mary felt his hand slip into hers, the shock of his warm palm against her own like a live wire, as he began to gently pull her along into the corridor.

She could still feel the press of it against her skin as she retrieved her coat from her locker.

Not knowing what exactly he had in mind and wanting to be prepared for any eventuality, she grabbed her gloves and hat from the shelf and stuffed them into the wide pockets, before making her way back to the hallway where he was waiting.

He didn’t try to take her hand again – which was probably for the best, as she hadn’t had the first clue about how to react the first time, and now perhaps they could just pretend it hadn’t happened at all – and she was content to follow him for a minute or two, anticipation of the surprise pooling in her stomach, until they finally reached the wide sliding glass doors of the building’s side entrance.

It didn’t make any sense, what she saw through the glass. Three hours ago, the air was full with pale winter light, filtering down onto dark greens and the browns of the lawn and the bare, leafless trees that made up the expanse of the hospital’s grounds. But now she couldn’t see anything – there was no color at all – and as the doors slid open, she understood why.

The skies were a flinty gray, ponderously full, even as fat flakes lightly cascaded towards the ground, all the air moving at once, so stark and white. Everything looked strange and foreign: the wide lawn, the square-cut hedges, the wooden bench where she sometimes brought her lunch and book (at least on warmer days), all of it was covered in an inch or two of snow, the familiar now made beautiful by the curious alchemy of winter.

She walked out into it, letting the snowflakes fall onto her shoulders and her hair before she had the presence of mind to pull on her hat and gloves.

“It’s snowing,” she said as she turned back towards him, only now realizing that he must have followed just behind her as she stepped outside, that he was still standing only a few feet away.

“Nothing gets past you, Phinney,” he replied, raising his eyebrows in amusement. She could see his breath as it softly crystallized in front of his mouth. “Our resident meteorologist.”

Mary was about to offer some retort, something that might diffuse the growing sensation in her chest, that thing that pulled at her whenever he got close enough, but then she noticed that they were not the only ones who had wandered outside. She spied Nurse Green a little way across the lawn, instructing a few small children – undoubtedly belonging to some of the patients – in the proper creation of snow angels. Chaplain Hopkins was right nearby, helping two others, slightly older by the look of them, in the construction of a diminutive snowman. And off by the hedges, Nurse Hastings was being chased – not involuntarily, it would seem – by the impish form of Dr. Hale, who had a perfectly-formed snowball in the gloved palm of his hand, looking ready to strike once his prey ceased her defensive maneuvering and was forced to pause and catch her breath.

Mary glanced back at Dr. Foster, whose dark hair and beard were now flecked with white. He didn’t have a hat, or gloves either, gauging from the way he had shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. She had half a mind to offer him hers, before quickly acknowledging that he would never accept them, not without losing some crucial, man-shaped portion of his pride. Instead, fueled by some impulse she could hardly name, let alone understand, she took a step closer, and gently brushed the snow from the sides of his face. He didn’t move to stop her – he didn’t move at all – and she noticed that his breath had stilled, no telltale cloud escaping from his lips, until she finally lowered her hand.

“Thank you…” she said as she stepped back, softly clearing her throat, hoping for something, anything, to break the tension. “For showing me this. I can’t believe I would have missed it.”

“My pleasure,” he replied, humor edging back into his eyes. “Although, I promise you, in a few days, after it’s been plowed and gets covered with muck and grime, and then it melts and refreezes and turns the whole place into a city-wide demolition derby, you won’t miss it at all.”

“Are you always such a romantic when it comes to snow?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips, knowing she was drawing perilously close to the realm of flirtation, but somehow powerless to stop.

“When it comes to snow, I try not to be drawn in by its picturesque enticements,” he offered. “But I don’t mind being a romantic for slightly more worthy causes…”

His voice grew quieter and then trailed off altogether, and all Mary was aware of was the faint degree of warmth he was giving off as he stood opposite her, the fullness of his bottom lip before it turned and met the trimmed edging of his beard, the way his dark eyes were focused intently on her face, as if seeing something entirely unexpected. Flakes were landing softly on her cheeks, but she could barely feel the cold, nor did she entirely register the icy burn of winter air as it made its way into her lungs. Everything was still, and silent, the world enclosed in the slowly diminishing space between their faces.

And all at once, she heard a tremendous thump, a spray of fine powder exploding in a giant radial burst behind Dr. Foster. He quickly turned to look behind him, revealing a fist-sized blotch in the center of his back, bright white against the dark wool.

“Damn it, Hale!” he yelled out, before turning back to face her. “Um, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, Nurse Phinney…”

He ran off in search of his assailant, stopping only to gather some snow into the palm of his hand and pack it together into a fitting projectile. And then she couldn’t help but laugh a little, watching the two of them battle it out, if only for the childlike grin she saw plastered to Dr. Foster’s face as he finally let loose his snowball and watched it arc gracefully into the air.


	6. A Nice Tradition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Mercy Street Holiday 2016 Prompt Challenge on Tumblr: "Christmas Traditions" (Dec 20)

He really ought to have been paying more attention to Major Summers – and under any other circumstances, it wouldn’t have been that much of a problem. But his eyes kept involuntarily darting across the room, catching glimpses of her in animated conversation with Dr. Diggs.

Whatever they were discussing appeared to be quite interesting – far more interesting than what the major was going on about – and he could see her face light up as she spoke, her wide, expressive eyes glimmering with curiosity, although some of that could possibly be attributed to the half-filled plastic cup of Chardonnay in her hand. Her hair was down, flowing in soft chestnut waves over her shoulders, a far cry from how she normally had it, up in a ponytail or rolled into a slick bun.

It was her mouth, though, that he couldn’t keep himself from staring at, the rounded bow shape of it, flushed pink like the inner curve of a shell. God, had he really almost kissed her?

He was glad, in a way, for the intervention of Hale – although this was probably the only time he would ever make such an admission – if only for keeping them both from doing something they would no doubt later regret. Although, he found it strangely difficult, in this moment at least, to imagine what that regret might feel like, as he watched her lips broaden into a smile as she laughed at something Dr. Diggs was saying.

“So what do you think, Dr. Foster?”

Jed blinked and quickly turned his gaze back towards Major Summers.

“I’m sorry, sir… About what, exactly?”

“Your contract.” The major let out a weary sigh. “I know you’re due up at the end of January, but the Major General and I are in agreement that we’d like to see you stay on for another two years, if you’re interested. You’ve been a great asset to this hospital.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jed replied.

It was strange to think he was almost to January, a month that had loomed so large in his mind for so long. _Look, we just need to wait until January_ , he had told her, again and again, until the words had turned all but hollow. _In January, I’ll be done, and then we can start thinking about moving to the West Coast_.

It turned out she couldn’t wait until January. By July, she had given him an ultimatum, and when he had no answer for her, she had coolly packed her things into boxes and then mailed him a check for half the Kelley Blue Book value of the car.

And now here he was, almost to January. And he was free to do whatever he liked.

“I wonder, Major, if I could have a few days to think about it?” he said. “Just until after the holiday. Two years is a long time,” he added.

The major made a pleased-sounding chortle as he tapped Jed on the arm. “Not at my age, son.”

Turning his gaze from Jed, the major looked out over the crowded conference room, which had been commandeered for their annual staff holiday party. It was a sizable turnout, small groups of doctors and nurses circled in lively conversation, many with small plates of hors d’oeuvres and cups of beer or wine in their hands. The overhead lights had been dimmed slightly, with white Christmas lights and banners of cutout snowflakes running the lengths of the room, no doubt the work of Nurse Green, Jed supposed, and whatever party planning committee she had put herself in charge of.

“It’s a nice tradition, don’t you think?” the major asked.

“It is, sir,” Jed replied. “Although, I have to tell you, I’m more inclined towards the older traditions than the more recent ones.” He glimpsed down at his sweater, just to be sure the major didn’t miss his point.

A deep laugh rumbled through the major’s throat. “Not as dignified as Army Greens, it’s true,” he said, as he clasped Jed’s shoulder, “but youth must have its fling, as they say.”

Jed smiled and nodded politely, hard-pressed to remember a time he had _ever_ felt less dignified. But perhaps the fact that they were all in the same boat – strong-armed by Nurse Green (and whatever mysterious power her Southern charm had over the major) into wearing their most obnoxious Christmas sweaters, all as part of a brand-new holiday party tradition – made it slightly more tolerable.

For his part, the major’s sweater was dominated by a plaid appliqué Christmas tree, stretching all the way across his torso, felt ornaments decorating its stylized branches and presents with embroidered ribbon nestled at its base. In the face of such a fabricated marvel, Jed could only feel slightly ashamed at his own offering, which featured nearly a dozen slightly maniacal-looking elves jumping out of gift boxes.

“If you’ll excuse me, doctor, I should go make my rounds,” the major said. “Enjoy the party. And as soon as you’ve made up your mind… well, you’ll let us know, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Jed answered, giving the major a quick nod.

He did _try_ to enjoy the party, did his best to make light-hearted conversation with his colleagues, asking about everyone’s families and their travel plans, but some small part of his brain was always vaguely aware of where she was and who she was talking to.

It wasn’t that he was avoiding her – that wasn’t it, not really – but he realized he was slightly nervous about talking to her, nervous in a way he hadn’t been for quite some time.

But the room wasn’t that big, and she found him eventually, standing near the drinks table where he had just finished refilling his sparkling apple cider.

She gave him a warm, familiar smile as she stepped closer. Was it just his imagination or did she smell different, like something soft and floral and decidedly non-antiseptic?

“Impressive,” she said, nodding her head in the direction of his sweater. 

“Yes, well, my mother, I’m sure, would be immensely proud.” 

That, of course, was a ridiculous statement, as he doubted his mother had ever been proud of him a day in his life. She hadn’t been proud of him when he got into Columbia, she hadn’t been proud of the 526 he got on the MCAT, and she certainly wasn’t proud of the fact that he had taken this contract job with the Army, rather than staying on at Johns Hopkins and angling for chief of neurosurgery. 

Pulling himself from that depressing thought, he realized it was his turn to acknowledge her sweater.

“You brought that all the way from Boston?” he asked. Although, now that he had a proper chance to look at it, it didn’t look all that terrible. Granted, the dizzying, oversized rows of stars, snowflakes, trees, holly, Christmas stockings, and reindeer running all around the center wasn’t exactly easy on the eyes, but somehow it only seemed to add to her appeal.

“Borrowed, I’m afraid,” she said, with a tiny shrug of her shoulders. “From Nurse Green’s sister.”

“Too bad. I’d like to think of your wardrobe as being full of surprises,” he said, and then stopped himself, all at once realizing how that must have sounded to her. He glanced back towards the crowded room, hoping to quickly find something else to talk about, something that might distract her from what he had just said. Luckily, he found just the thing he was looking for, holding forth with a few of the other orthopedists as a knitted Santa suit-clad polar bear skied straight down the center of his chest.   

“Do you think anyone told Hale that the sweaters were supposed to be worn ironically?” he said. “I secretly suspect he just wore his just for fun.”

That, at least, earned him a little laugh, her cheeks rounding with it as she momentarily glanced away.

“So are you headed back north for the holiday?” he asked.

“I’ve got a flight on Christmas Eve,” she answered. “What about you? Are you going to Baltimore?”

If he was surprised – and a little intrigued – that she had somehow learned where he was from, he tried not to let it show.

“Just for the day. My brother and his family are staying in the house, and wherever they are tends to get rather… loud.”

There was more to it than that, of course. Ez by himself he could handle. It was the combination of Ez and his wife and the twins – and his mother – that turned the whole thing into a chaotic, drama-filled nightmare. And God forbid his mother learn about the divorce papers; they were barely on speaking terms after she found out about the separation.

“So you think children should be seen and not heard?” she asked, her wide, brown eyes glinting in the light.

He grinned. “I think they should they should avoid re-enacting scenes from _Kung Fu Panda_ at ungodly hours of the morning while I’m still trying to sleep.”

She smiled back at him and once again, like that moment in the snow, he was lost: lost in the inviting depths of her eyes, lost in the curve of her chin, lost in that strangely perfect mouth. And slowly permeating his consciousness was the notion that he might not mind it at all, never being found.

“Oh my goodness, Dr. Foster and Nurse Phinney, just look at y’all!” The voice – with its distinct musical drawl – was coming from nearby, and as he turned his head, he soon realized that it had emerged from Nurse Green, looking much more delighted than she had any real reason to be. “Don’t you see where y’all are standin’? Right under the mistletoe!”

Jed glanced up in horror, taking in the small bundle of green leaves hanging a few feet above his head, and then desperately trying to figure out what might have possessed someone to include such an item as part of their decorating scheme, especially when the event would involve _workplace_ _colleagues_.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s tradition!” she exclaimed sweetly, drawing the attention of several others, including Dr. Diggs and Dr. Hale, who were standing just a few paces away.

He froze; the woman didn’t honestly expect him to kiss Nurse Phinney right here, in front of everyone, did she? Of course she did, he realized, and so did everyone else, waiting there and staring expectantly at the two of them.

The moment stretched on interminably, without any solution in sight, and just as Jed was seriously considering making a break for the door, he felt something touch his cheek, light and soft as a whisper. It was followed by the slightest hint of pressure, the heat of her barely parted mouth like a tiny, gentle flame against his skin. And then it was gone, so quickly, like it had never been there at all.

A collegial cheer came forth from the assembled onlookers, and as they began to swivel back towards their conversations, Jed dumbly glanced over at her, for once not knowing what to say, realizing that he was firmly cementing his status as the stupidest man in the world.

There was something in her eyes he couldn’t figure out – happiness? sadness? disappointment? hope? – and even with the overwhelming compulsion to take her face in his hands and kiss her properly, the way she deserved, he knew in his heart he couldn’t do it.

“Merry Christmas, Dr. Foster,” she said, a soft, slightly embarrassed smile playing on her lips. She raised her half-cup of wine and extended it a little towards him, a peacemaking gesture now only waiting for his reply.

“Merry Christmas, Nurse Phinney,” he repeated, gently tapping his cup against hers. He hoped the words were enough, enough to say all the things he couldn’t, all the unexpected feelings lodged deep in his chest, all the things he didn’t dare voice.


End file.
